Tomorrow Is The Judgment Day
by LadyEnterprise1701
Summary: Loki of Asgard comes back from the dead determined to wipe out the red in his ledger and protect Asgard from the darkness that threatens the Nine Realms. Extension of my one-shot "Quicksilver Boy."
1. Cries In The Dark

_A/N: Hello again, fair readers! Some of you will recognize this first chapter as my Loki one-shot, "Quicksilver Boy." But you'll also notice that I've left out the first scene with Frigga, and extended the last scene...and that's because I'm running with this story. I may like_ The Dark World _'s Loki more than I've previously cared to admit, and since one of my great hopes in life is to see him redeemed, I'm currently writing what I WISH would happen to him in the next few movies. (Note I said "wish" and not "think" or "suspect." Because my imagination is going above and beyond what I suspect Marvel has planned for Loki and the Asgard storyline in general. Although it would be really awesome if Marvel concedes to Tom Hiddleston's obvious wishes and gives Loki a full redemptive arc. Hint hint, Feige and Company.)_

 _Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Thor, Loki, or any of the Marvel characters. If I did, Pietro would be driving around on Clint Barton's John Deere at this very moment._

* * *

 _Have I fallen so far,_

 _And is the hour so late_

 _That nothing remains but the cry of my hate,_

 _The cries in the dark that nobody hears,_

 _Here where I stand at the turning of the years?_

 _—_ _Les Miserables, "Valjean's Soliloquy"_

 _One, two, three, side-step, thrust!_ The steady, calm, consistent instructions of the old swordmasters in the Asgardian court came back to Loki as he ducked and parried and attacked the Dark Elves. The exertion, the sheer excitement of it brought a slight smile to his face. He hadn't been in a battle like this since that episode on Midgard a year ago.

And all he had was the tiny knife Thor had given him.

 _See how I can make the most out of even the smallest weapon, Brother?_

The gleaming little blade sank deep into a Dark Elf's side and the creature crumpled. Another one just behind him drew its arm back, curved blade ready for the deathblow. Loki whirled on his heel. The Elf thrust his blade forward. Loki ducked and plunged the knife into its stomach.

That was the last one. All three Elves that had come at him lay dead at his feet. Loki drew a deep breath and tossed his knife lightly, catching it again by the hilt.

 _Jane. Where's Jane?_

The sudden alarm that seized him was a bit surprising, given that he'd thought of Thor's mortal with little more than contempt only a few hours ago. Last he'd seen Jane, she'd cowered—at his order—behind a huge boulder where the Elves couldn't see her.

Loki whirled. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye brought his gaze upward—and his mouth fell open in shock.

Jane, looking smaller and more fragile than ever against the stark landscape, darted down the slag hill towards the two figures battling at the bottom. "Battling" might be a generous word. One figure appeared to be pummelling the other into the grou—

 _Thor._

Loki's heart leaped into his throat. The bestial creature that had killed Frigga— _Mumma—_ ram-med its huge fists into his brother over and over again. Thor tried to prop himself up on his elbows. _BAM!_ went the Kursed against his head. Thor tried to roll over onto his side. _THUD!_ went the Kursed against his shoulder, pinning him back to the ground.

"Thor!" Jane screamed over the wind. "Thor!"

Loki let out a frustrated sigh. He could see it now. The stupid girl would rush to the scene and try to attack the Kursed— _probably by tossing a pebble at his head, or something equally unhelpful_ —in her admittedly valiant attempt to distract it. As a reward, she would receive his full wrath and promptly get herself killed. And what would Thor do then?

 _Doesn't matter. Thor will be dead before she ever gets there if you don't act quickly._

Loki set his teeth, clenched his hand over the hilt of his knife, and set one foot in front of the other. His stride lengthened. He was jogging. Running. Running like the wind. Like he'd been trained to run in Asgard alongside Sif and Fandral and Volstagg and Thor.

"Jane!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and jerking her back. She whirled and looked ready to slap him for the second time that day in her panic. He looked her in the eye before she could make a move.

"Don't—be—a _fool_ ," he hissed. "Stay back. I'll take care of him."

The wild terror in Jane's eyes turned to pleading desperation. Loki didn't wait to hear her give him thanks. He gave her a slight push to the side and ran.

 _Run, Silvertongue, run._

The Kursed delivered another stunning blow. Thor groaned—but like the stubborn, headstrong boy he still was, he lifted his bleeding head with an effort and shot a defiant glare up at his attacker. Where Mjölnir was, Loki had no idea. Thor clearly wasn't capable of summoning it.

A discarded Elven scimitar lay on the ground; Loki slipped his knife into his belt and snatched it up, grasping its hilt with both of his clever, strong hands. As he did so, something attached to the Kursed's belt caught his eye. Another one of those grenades. Loki reached out, but the beast's violent movements kept him from getting too close. He gritted his teeth.

The Kursed drew both arms back this time for another blow. It was too consumed with beating the life out of Thor to notice Loki jerk the grenade pin loose.

But in the time it would take for the grenade to actually explode, the Kursed could easily continue attacking Thor. And if his brother's bloody, bruised face and dazed expression were any indication, Loki suspected Thor couldn't afford the delay.

 _I…will not…lose him too…_

No time to stop and puzzle over this sudden change of heart. Loki pushed the scimitar up and forward as hard and as fast as he could. The blade smashed through armor, muscle, bone, and organs with a sickening noise and a spurt of black blood.

Loki let go of the hilt and stepped back as the Kursed stiffened. Thor narrowed his pained eyes in disbelief. Loki shot him a glance, and against his will his thin lips turned up in a smile. He suddenly heard himself as a child, squealing from some reckless perch in their mother's garden.

 _See what I can do, Brother? Watch me, Thor, watch me!_

And then Thor's excited reply… _I see you, Loki!_

The Kursed staggered backwards and Loki found himself face-to-face with the creature. Finally. _This demonic thing killed. His. Mother._ The black, beady eyes fixed on him in murderous rage. Loki drew himself up to his full height and returned the glare.

 _I've seen worse. I've been in Thanos' court. And I will not quaver before my mother's mur—_

Strong, beastly hands clamped on his upper arms and pulled him forward. Before Loki had time to panic, the blade protruding from the Kursed's chest plunged through his own.

"NO!" Thor cried.

For a moment, Loki was totally numb except for a blinding pressure in his sternum. The pain came quickly enough—blinding, suffocating. The blood pounded in his ears as his heart tried desperately to continue its beat around the blade.

The Kursed growled and jerked him off. Loki fell flat on his back, gasping and yet failing to draw in a full breath.

Heavy footsteps moved ever closer. If the beast attacked him now as it had done Thor, he was finished. Loki's shaking hands moved against his will to his chest. He felt something warm and sticky.

 _Oh gods…_

He forced himself to lift his head and look his enemy full in the face. The Kursed growled with pleasure. But the grenade glowed, red and blinking fast, fast, faster.

 _Talk…talk, you fool, don't give him this satisfaction!_

"See you in Hel, monster," Loki hissed.

The Kursed blinked. Loki forced himself to raise an eyebrow and nodded, subtly, towards its belt.

Immediately the creature panicked. It grabbed for the belt—but too late. The grenade exploded, consuming the Kursed in a ball of fire. The beast craned its neck back and bellowed like a dying bull until the ground shook.

 _BOOM!_ The wormhole tore open and shut again before Loki had time to blink, taking the Kursed with it.

And Svartalfheim went dead-silent.

Loki fell back, exhausted. He couldn't catch his breath; it was like Thor had dropped Mjolnir on his chest again. The pain blinded him. A thick metallic taste filled the back of his throat. And he was cold—icy cold. Like the Jotun he was and always had been…

"Oh, you fool, you didn't listen!"

The deep, resonant voice enveloped him like a warm blanket and he suddenly felt himself being lifted up in a pair of massive arms. Loki opened his eyes. His brother cradled him. _Cradled._ There was no anger or cold frustration in Thor's deep blue eyes this time, either…only desperate pleading and anxious horror.

Even the way he said "you fool" held no real condemnation in it.

"I kn-know," Loki stammered. "I'm a fool. I'm a fool—"

"Stay with me, stay with me." Thor cupped his hand around the side of Loki's head. "It's all right…"

 _It's all right? After all I've done? You shouldn't even be here, you shouldn't even be_ touching _me!_

At the thought, Loki's eyes filled with tears; he tried to blink them away and hardly had the strength even for that. The past two years filled his brain. The way he'd manuevered Thor to Jotunheim, only to realize that the Frost Giants they battled were his own kin. His embittered outrage against Odin. His orders to the Destroyer to kill his brother. His alliance with Thanos. The way he'd speared the gentle Midgardian and tried to kill Thor a second time.

And the worst one: "You might want to take the stairs to the left."

 _"_ _Then am I not your mother?"_

 _"_ _You are not."_

"I'm sorry." The words came out choked and breathless. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"It's all right," Thor said again, trying to sound firm and failing miserably. He looked Loki in the eye and forced a smile to his face, though it didn't quite reach his own brimming eyes. "It's all right, little brother. I'll tell Father what you did here today."

For a moment, Loki could hardly string the words together. The pain cleared just long enough for them to finally penetrate and hold meaning—and even when they did, they still confused him. He blinked with an effort. The weight crushed his chest now. Ice-cold darkness closed in around the edges of his vision.

"I didn't do it for him," he whispered.

 _You…Mumma…_

Thor swallowed, tried to smile again, pressed his hand against the side of Loki's face and ran his thumb around his brother's cheekbone. Suddenly he wasn't a grown Æsir anymore. He'd turned into a golden-haired little boy in a red-and-gold tunic, and they weren't in Svartalfheim. This was Mumma's garden in spring, the soft green grass wet with morning dew and the smells of honeysuckle and roses and lilies competing for supremacy.

Loki, cradled in his brother's arms, drifted off to sleep. And far away he could hear Mumma calling his name.

* * *

The first thing he felt was a somewhat prickly sensation all over his face. Almost as if someone had thrown him face-down on a bed of…grass? Leaves?

It certainly smelled earthy. But no, it was too fresh to be old leaves.

Too wet.

He shifted uncomfortably. The earthy smell intensified and whatever was beneath him rustled. Slowly, carefully, Loki turned his head to one side and opened one eyelid just a crack.

Blades of emerald grass rose up mere cenimeters from his face.

 _What? Where am I?_

 _Valhalla?_

Loki actually let out a soft, skeptical snort. No, Valhalla was certainly not for him. Not with…how had the Midgardian spy described it? The "red in her ledger."

 _If her ledger dripped with red, mine is soaked clean through._

Loki opened his eye just a little wider. Silver-barked trees surrounded him, their golden leaves parting in a soft, springtime wind to let in a sunlight far too white to be natural. The air smelled clean, almost sweet. Like some delectable fruit waited for him somewhere nearby.

His arms lay flat, pressed against his sides. Loki curled them up underneath him, half expecting the stabbing pain to start again in his chest—but to his surprise, there was no pain. Not only that, but his head felt clearer than it had in two years. The raw nervousness that had plagued him and that he'd tried so hard to hide ever since Thanos and the Other took him captive was gone.

He felt light. Clean.

 _Clean._

He lifted his head with a slight, tired groan and turned it this way and that, taking in his otherwordly surroundings. It certainly didn't look the way Valhalla had always been described to him. No massive banqueting hall, no proud, outrageously beautiful Valkyries on their fine steeds. This place was so quiet, except for the wind rustling in the gold-leafed trees, that all he heard was his own breathing.

"Loki."

He froze. The voice was familiar. Very familiar. Gentle, feminine, with just a hint of underlying sternness.

"Look at me, Loki."

 _No. No, it can't be._

Loki glanced fearfully over his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat. There she stood, clad in a dress so white it was almost blinding, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders and down to her waist. Her blue-green eyes rested lovingly on him. Even her mouth curved in a soft, motherly smile.

Frigga Allmother. Queen of Asgard.

The woman who had raised him.

Nursed him.

Kissed his scraped knees.

Taught him all his tricks.

Begged the Allfather's mercy on his behalf.

Loved him.

Died for Thor's mortal.

Never had Loki been so totally robbed of speech in all his life. He scrambled to his knees—he didn't trust his legs to hold up his own weight—and faced her. Frigga's smile widened and she cocked her head to one side, her eyes simultaneously welling up and brightening as she did so.

"My little Quicksilver Boy," she whispered. "How proud I am of you."

 _"_ _Hello, Mother. Have I made you proud?"_

Loki winced at the memory. He narrowed his eyes to keep their sudden stinging at bay.

"I…have done… _nothing_ …worthy of _your_ pride," he whispered, and ducked his head. The nagging feeling of guilt that had tormented him the moment he and Thor started to argue in the Asgardian boat on Svartalfheim came back to haunt him now.

"You think you alone were loved of Mother? You had her tricks but I had her trust!"

"Trust?" Loki had snapped, feeling the color rush to his face. "Was that her last expression?"

"And what help were _you_ in your cell?" Thor retorted.

Loki suddenly felt as if his brother had struck him on the side of the head with Mjölnir. His hands had clenched convulsively in his restraints and he'd gritted his teeth. "And who put me there?"

Thor said nothing, merely glowered down at him with his jaw tight and his blue eyes glinting. Loki's chest tightened. Completely forgetting the girl sleeping in the stern of the boat, he lunged at his brother. " _Who put me there?!_ "

"You know damn well!" Thor roared, grabbing him by the shoulder and throwing him backwards against the boat. _THUD!_ went Loki's backbone against the sturdy, polished wood. "You know _damn well who_!"

He drew back his fist, ready to strike. Loki knew that if Thor wanted to beat his brains out, he could. But for once, he didn't even think about that. His mind had fixated, with harrowing intensity, on his older brother's words.

 _Who put me there?_

 _You know damn well who. You put yourself there, Loki. You with all your lies and schemes and bitterness and rage—YOU are the cause of every misfortune that has ever befallen you and your family and Asgard._

 _If you hadn't tried to get Thor in trouble on Jotunheim…_

 _If you hadn't lashed out at the Allfather…_

 _If you hadn't tried to harness the Bifrost…_

 _If you hadn't sworn allegiance to Thanos…_

 _If you hadn't killed the man on the Midgardian vessel…_

 _If you hadn't told the Kursed to take the stairs to the left…_

Loki lifted his head. Frigga still watched him, worry replacing her smile by this point. He gritted his teeth. There he went again, worrying her needlessly. How many hours and days had she spent in an agony of fear for him and he'd simply thrown it back in her face?

If he didn't seize control of his emotions, they were going to burst forth like a flood. He lowered his eyes again and focused on a single blade of grass a few inches in front of him.

"I am not even worthy for you to look upon me," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm a murderer and a traitor. I really _am_ the monster parents tell their children about at night after all…"

So much for detaching himself from his emotions. He choked on his words and squeezed his eyes shut tight. His fingernails dug into his skin. He wobbled on his knees, planted his palms in the dewy grass, and let out a groaning, shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I am so, so sorry…"

And with that, Loki of Asgard—or Jotunheim, he himself didn't even know which—began to weep.

The forest echoed with the deep, gut-wrenching sobs until even the otherwordly birds ceased their songs. Loki covered his face with his hands, curled his body forward, and rocked back and forth with a pain that went far beyond any careless words spoken by his brother before Thor's remarkable transformation, further even than the marked favoritism their father had shown his golden-haired, blue-eyed son.

This was a pain that went all the way back to the knowledge that he was rejected even at birth. It was something he'd thought about before, but he'd never realized how much it _hurt_. And to think he'd spent the past two years either trying to take his revenge against his birth nation for the slight, or trying to prove to the rest of the universe that he was more than capable of the title "Odinson," in spite of the fact that he was really just a worthless Jotun.

And in the name of both revenge and pride, he had killed and lied and cheated and stolen.

 _Was it worth it in the end, Liesmith? Was it?! To betray the man you called "Father," to be the cause of the death of the woman who nursed you—to bring endless miseries to the only truly good man you've ever known? Thor is a far, far greater man than you will ever be, you monster!_

A pair of cool hands slipped over either side of his face as Loki's sobs grew even more broken and weary. He leaned into them, stopping himself before he could reach out and touch her. He didn't want to touch her, didn't want to sully her with his filthy, bloody hands.

But she drew him even closer until his head rested against her abdomen. Loki drew a shuddering, groaning breath as she took his hands and pressed them against her hips. Instinctively, he wrapped his fingers around the white silk of her gown—and then, throwing off all restraint, he threw his arms tight around her waist and buried his face in her stomach

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! It was my fault. I told it where to go, I never thought—"

"Hush, little one," Frigga whispered. "Hush."

"No, you don't _understand_!" Loki screamed, throwing his head back. "I told the monster where to go! It was because of _me_ that he got to the palace! Oh gods, I'm so sorry—"

"Do you mean that, Loki?" Frigga asked gently.

He looked at her like she'd just stabbed him through the heart. "Do you doubt me, too?"

Frigga raised her eyebrows the same way she used to do whenever he and Thor tried to talk their way out of a childhood escapade. "Answer my question, Loki."

He swallowed and blinked hard. "Yes. I am _truly_ sorry."

Frigga's face softened. She stroked his hair back.

"Then live as though you were," she whispered.

He frowned slightly, puzzled—but she didn't give him a chance to prod her about it. She wi-ped away a tear that ran down his cheekbone and smiled gently.

"Am I not your mother, Loki?"

Another sword-thrust through the heart. His face screwed up as he tried hard not to lose composure again.

"Yes," he choked. "Yes, you are."

"Are you not my son?"

He hesitated. There was something harder about saying "I am Frigga's son" than "Frigga is my mother." Everything he'd told himself over the past two years flared against it. He was a Jotun, he was a monster, he was the one no one could claim and he would claim no one in return.

Frigga didn't raise her eyebrows this time. She didn't smile. Her face took on a new expression: stern, unyielding, with all the authority and majesty of a queen. She cupped his face in both of her hands. Loki kept his eyes down.

"Look at me," she ordered.

He obeyed. Reluctantly. He could hardly bear her gaze.

"If I am your mother, then you are _my_ son. You must own that. And you must live as though you believed it with all your heart."

He squeezed his eyes shut again; tears leaked out and ran down his face. Frigga bent and pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Don't leave me," he whispered hoarsely. "Please don't leave me, Mumma…"

"I will never leave you. But _you_ must leave this place…at least for a while. Look."

He opened his eyes and pulled in a shuddering breath. Frigga motioned towards a clearing in the wood and a faint image shimmering in the opening. Loki staggered to his feet and took a step closer as he recognized two figures—one very small and feminine, in an ash-blue gown and shabby jacket, the other much taller and broader and clad in a crimson cape. There was no mistaking them as they crept over the wastelands of Svartalfheim and into what looked like a cave.

"Thor," he murmured, wiping his eyes. "And Jane."

"Yes," Frigga said. She pressed his long, strong fingers. "You must follow them. Even if you can't find them, Loki, you _must_ help them in any way you can."

"But…but how?" He looked down at her, bewildered. "How are they going to get out of Svartalfheim? Thor certainly doesn't know the passages between worlds. Now, if he'd spent more time in the libraries as a boy…"

Frigga smirked. "Come now, Loki."

In spite of himself, he smiled back at her. It was just a wisp of a smile, but it was gentler and calmer than any of the wildly triumphant or cruel, mocking grins that had marked his keen, handsome features over the past two years. He wiped his reddened eyes with the ball of his hand and took another deep, cleansing breath of this pure, sweet-smelling air.

"I'll do what I can," he said. "I promise."

Frigga's smile softened. "Good boy. On your knee now."

He obeyed, keeping his eyes on her face as he lowered himself to one knee. She cupped his face in her hands. "Close your eyes."

Again he obeyed. His heartbeat quickened a little—he had an idea of what was coming—and he had to swallow hard when he heard her next words. Still…they gave him a strange, peaceful sort of courage he'd never felt before. Something that seemed to promise that his ledger _could_ be wiped clean.

"Goodbye, my son," his mother whispered. "Never doubt that I love you…with all my heart. And never doubt that we will meet again."

Loki grasped her wrists lightly and she kissed his forehead again. As she did so, the soft light intensified and enveloped him. The last thing he knew was a sudden breath of that clean, sweet air in his face and the sound of the wind rustling in the trees.

* * *

 _And since this was mostly stuff from "Quicksilver Boy," I'll go ahead and post the second chapter so you can see where I'm going with this..._


	2. Another Way To Go

_Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it._

* * *

 _One word from him and I'd be back_  
 _Beneath the lash, upon the rack_  
 _Instead he offers me my freedom_  
 _I feel my shame inside me like a knife_  
 _He told me that I have a soul,_  
 _How does he know?_  
 _What spirit comes to move my life?_  
 _Is there another way to go?_

 _—_ _Les Miserables, "Valjean's Soliloquy"_

" _Gah!_ "

Loki sucked in a choking, groaning breath and coughed so hard, it threw his head and shoulders forward. The wet, violent heaving seized him until he could hardly catch his breath. He rolled over to his side with a groan…and felt dry, gritty dust against his cheek.

He peeled his eyes open with an effort. A blank, grey wall rose up before him; he stretched out his arm and just brushed it with his fingertips. A dull pain tore through his chest at the movement. Groaning again, he rolled over onto his back and turned his head, trying to get his bearings.

He lay beneath the shadow of some massive rock formation. It protected him from the harsh wind screeching overhead, and for that he was thankful. If he'd been out there in the greenish-grey open, he would probably have more dust in his eyes and nose and mouth than he already did. If he ever met up with Thor again he'd have to thank him for getting him out of the eleme—

 _Thor._

Loki froze. His brother…Jane…the vision in the wood _…where was that wood, anyway?_

 _Was it a mere dream? Or was it real?_

 _Did I…did I just return from the dead?_

A slightly fearful look crept into his face. Slowly, he lifted his hands to his chest and felt, tentatively, along the sharp edges of his punctured armor. There was still moisture, but it felt…congealed. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he tilted his head back and looked at the wound.

 _Well, it's still there._ But it hardly looked fatal anymore. Yes, there was still a bloody opening through which he could see a bit of something wet and white that looked like breastbone—he shuddered at the thought—but it seemed too small now to have been made by the brutal Elven scimitar. His heart was obviously beating just fine. Blood pulsed slowly out of the wound.

Loki laid his head down again and took a deep breath. _Think, Silvertongue, think. You're the clever one. You can't move from this place until you heal this wound. Before you come up with any of your tricks or schemes, tend to yourself._

He closed his eyes and folded his hands over the wound. Focused. Brought to mind one of the many spells his mother had taught him when he was just a raven-haired little boy, uninterested in jousting matches or boar hunts but absolutely fascinated with her books and magic. He felt the _seidr_ trembling in his fingers first; then it leaked out, penetrating his torn skin, muscles, and bones with a white-hot, cleansing intensity. He gritted his teeth as it coursed through the wound, restoring tissue and binding it closed.

Only when the pain stopped did he draw his hands back and take a look. A weary but undeniably satisfied smile brightened his pale, dust-covered face.

 _Lovely workmanship as ever, young Laufeyson._

The smile stiffened. Loki blinked and frowned, almost scowled, at the protective stone formation above him.

 _Laufeyson? Is that who I am? Is that to hang over me for the remainder of my days, then…reminding the whole world that I am still the monster parents tell their children about at night?_

 _"Only if you choose to let it."_

He held his breath, startled. His widened green eyes darted from side to side—but there was no one nearby…or at least, no one _visibly_ nearby.

 _Well, I'm certainly not Odin's son_ , he thought—a bit petulantly, he had to admit. _And I still don't know that I even_ want _to be._

 _"Fine_ ," his mother's voice whispered. " _I would hardly ask you to take that name. But remember, you_ are _mine. That should be enough, don't you think?"_

Yes…yes, that was more than enough. His mother's gentle, smiling face in the otherworldly wood filled his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, gave himself one quick, firm nod, and then propped himself up on his elbows.

His legs still wobbled when he finally got to his feet; he had to slam his shoulder against the rock wall, gasping, to keep from falling. But he could feel, distinctly, the strengthening and quickening of his heart. As it pumped stronger and stronger he walked faster, leaning less upon the rock, until he emerged out in the open and braced himself against the scraping, screeching wind.

Wasteland stretched as far as the eye could see. Any of those ragged promontories could hold caves like the one he'd seen Thor and Jane wander into. Loki sighed heavily and immediately started coughing again; he covered his nose and mouth to keep the dust out.

 _The boat, the boat…where is the boat?_

He turned and tried to retrace their steps as best as he could. Tried to find the landmarks he'd made sure to take note of during his and Thor's violent descent down the mountain towards Malekith. He scrambled back up the mountain, ignoring the lingering, dull ache in the center of his chest, grabbing convenient but sharp-edged boulders lest he slide down in the thick, fine dust.

As soon as he reached the summit, he let out a short, relieved breath. There was the boat, delicate and very out of place in this forbidding landscape. He ran towards it, took a flying leap, and landed on his feet in the center of the boat.

 _Of course Thor and Jane didn't return to the boat_ , he thought as he took hold of the tiller. _Why should they? They don't know how to get back._

A fire-like glow swept into the boat's tiller and the craft shot forward. He narrowed his eyes against the grit and the wind, steering back to the promontories he'd glimpsed a moment ago. But peering into each and every cave he passed offered no answers. He even cupped his hand over his mouth and shouted into the howling wind. No one appeared; no one called back.

Loki sank to a seat beside the tiller. Either Thor and Jane were deliberately concealing themselves, or they were no longer on Svartalfheim. He had a hard time believing Thor would hide from him if he heard Loki calling. Not after the way they'd parted.

 _Many thanks, Brother, for making this job so incredibly easy. What a shame we didn't take Heimdall along._

 _Heimdall._

Like a spark to the oil used to light lamps and torches in Asgard, a plan flamed to life. Loki whirled, his hand on the edge of the boat. The passageway he'd used to get here from Asgard wasn't that far away. If he just could just get back to Asgard…prevail upon Heimdall to tell him where Thor and Jane had gone…use either his own magic or the Bifrost to teleport himself to their side…

 _Oh, cease your mutterings, you fool! You'd be arrested on sight and executed as a traitor. You went too far the moment you followed Thor out of your cell. And Mumma's not here to save your life this time._

Loki clenched his teeth and drummed his long fingers nervously on the tiller. Even if he raced straight to the palace, fell on his knees before Odin, and begged for the chance to help Thor, the chance of him getting a fair hearing was so slim, it was almost non-existent. If Thor's report of their fa— _his_ father's devastation over Mumma's death was true, then Odin was beyond reason.

Not that Loki would ever get on bended knee before Odin ever again, of course. But whatever life he led now, it couldn't be in the body or under the name of Loki Laufeyson, Odinson, Friggason. To be so bold would mean certain death.

Not even Thor must ever know he survived.

Loki swallowed hard and gripped the tiller even tighter. He'd honestly looked forward, as he peeked into the caves, to his brother's face when Thor saw him alive and well. Even Jane's surprise would've been pleasant to see. He hadn't spoken completely in jest when he said he liked her.

There was no longer any possibility of that kind of reunion.

But still…just because Thor couldn't know didn't mean Loki couldn't pull strings. Manipulate. Help his brother save the universe as best he could in complete anonymity.

Delicate, clandestine work was what he did best anyway.

Loki gave the tiller a hard jerk; the boat swerved in the direction of the cleft from which they emerged a few hours before. He forced the boat up, up, up, until he hovered several hundred feet above Svartalfheim's surface. The wind was even worse up here. He could hardly keep his eyes open as he covered his mouth with his hand and murmured a simple enchantment.

A light, green veil enveloped him a second or two and his strong, lanky frame disappeared; an armored soldier of the Einherjar—blue-eyed, golden-haired, and much shorter and sturdier—sat in his place. Loki held out his arm, inspecting his armor. It looked perfect, solid, identical in every way to the soldiers who guarded the palace of Asgard. His magic was as good as ever. Not even Odin would ever know the difference.

"Here goes nothing, then," he muttered, a very Loki-like, mischievous glint appearing in the blue eyes of the Einherjar. And with that, he flew the boat straight towards the crevice that would lead him back to Asgard.

The sunlight in Asgard was blinding compared to the dreariness of Svartalfheim. It—and the fact that the air was so pure and thin and clean—took Loki's breath away. So did the massive, gleaming city looming up before him.

And to think, once upon a time his greatest dream was to rule over _it._ Those were the fine old carefree days, weren't they? He hadn't even conceived yet of ruling over a larger swath of territory.

 _No such thoughts! You are the Son of Frigga. And no man who bears her name even dreams of being a tyrant. Not even a benevolent one._

Loki gulped. He hadn't given himself such a sound scolding in a long time. It rattled his devil-may-care courage more than he cared to admit.

* * *

As soon as the boat burst out of the crevice he forced it down and close to the churning water that surrounded the city. Hoping no one really noticed him, he brought it to a halt alongside Asgard's main harbor, already clogged with numerous civilian and military ships. He stepped onto the wharf and walked as casually but as quickly as he could down its length. On foot, it would take nearly half an hour to cross the city and get to the palace. He'd be better off teleporting himself there.

But that might attract Heimdall's attention. No, he'd best walk like the commoner he appeared to be.

It was just as well that he did. Striding through Asgard's wide cobblestone streets, he found himself picking up on anxious, half-whispered, highly-informative conversations. The tidings were unsettling enough.

"The King is losing his reason, they say," an old goodwife muttered in the marketplace. "By

the Norns, I hope he'll hold on to most of it before the attack."

 _Attack?_ Loki quickened his pace, swerving out of the way to avoid running into a couple of Einherjar on horseback. Their voices drifted down to him as well.

"He has issued orders that none may disturb him save the scouts he sent to the Dark World," one was saying under his breath.

"What if they don't come back before…?" began his fellow.

"Then we obey the commands of Lord Tyr," the first man cut him off. "As far as we are concerned, he is as good as ruler of Asgard—at least until the Allfather shows himself again. May Captain Lyffeson be preserved…he and his scouts have a dangerous mission, if they're venturing into Dark Elf territory."

 _Hmm._ Loki flexed his fingers, sensing the magic eagerly throbbing at their tips. He forced it back with an effort and fought back a satisfied smirk at his own cleverness.

Once he reached the massive stone bridge that connected the palace with the rest of the city, he let the magic do its work. His disguise transformed again; now he was the older, sterner, far better-looking Captain Lyffeson. He threw back his shoulders and approached the golden doors and the two guards standing before them with crossed spears.

"I've returned from the Dark World with tidings for the King," he said in a smooth but imperious voice, much deeper than his own. "Let me pass."

The guards—young imps who reacted well to authoritative voices—immediately pulled their spears open. Loki strode past them and into the Great Hall. It was still littered with debris, no thanks to Thor's rather destructive exit in the Elven ship. Loki lengthened his strides and suddenly realized his heart was pounding.

 _Oh, calm down. You've been in far riskier situations—and in far shabbier disguises, no less. Remember when you and Thor penetrated the Giant's castle? And you had the work of disguising yourself_ and _Thor that time—and as maidens! Recall how marvelously that worked, and you have nothing to fear now. Oh, but the look on that Giant's face when he touched his bride's hand and found himself gazing straight into the clear blue eyes of the God of Thun—_

Loki halted abruptly, his bubbling amusement at the memory vanishing. Odin stood before his ruined throne, his back to the Great Hall's entrance.

He must've heard the captain's heavy footsteps. Loki didn't see how he couldn't. But he never turned; he just stood there with his white head bowed and his broad shoulders slumped. He held Gungnir, but from where Loki stood it didn't appear that his grip on it was very tight.

There was a definite weariness about him that Loki had only seen on one other occasion. And to be perfectly honest, it was rather unnerving.

"Forgive me, my liege," Loki said, quietly. "I've returned from the Dark World with news."

Odin turned slightly. He didn't look at the captain. "Thor?"

 _Thor. Of course. You'd be most worried about Thor._

Swiftly, Loki smothered the old bitterness and focused on maintaining the disguise. He shook his head slightly in response to Odin's question. "There was no sign of Thor." _True enough._ "Or the weapon, but…"

Odin suddenly lifted his grey eyes. "What?"

He sounded cautious. Loki hesitated and felt the magic coursing in and around him, building up and strengthening the disguise like some intensifying defensive measure.

"We found a body."

Odin blinked, withdrew his gaze. Loki held his breath.

 _In the name of all that's good and holy, Odin, please believe me._

"Loki."

The name sounded dull and heavy on the Allfather's tongue. Before he could stop it, a smile tugged at Loki's lips. A sudden, grim satisfaction swept over him; he nodded.

"Loki Laufeyson is dead, my liege," he said firmly. "He will trouble you no more."

 _And now we'll both be happy. He's rid of me,_ I'm _rid of me. This won't be so bad, this life of secrecy and flitting in and out of realms. I'll make a new, better name for myself. I'll be such a thorn in the sides of other troublemakers in this universe, I'll wipe out the red in my ledger and have a good laugh besides—_

Gungir crashed to the floor. Loki jumped back, startled—and his heart jumped into his throat.

Odin stood, oddly rigid, on the dais of the throne. He faltered, steadied himself for a moment …and then, for the second time in his life, Loki saw the King of Asgard fall to the ground.

Only this time, it wasn't a slow, dreamlike movement. Odin collapsed in a heap.

Loki didn't think twice. He closed the distance between him and the Allfather, dropping to his knees in confused alarm. Odin gasped, unable to take in a full breath, his hands moving in panicked, jerky motions around his heart. Loki reached out and quickly drew back again. If he so much as brushed against flesh, the disguise would crumble.

"My son," Odin choked. "My son…"

"My liege, don't think of Thor right now," Loki said, trying to keep his voice steady. His heart was pounding again now, and it wasn't from petty nervousness. "You are unwell, let me call the Healers—"

" _Not—Thor!_ "

Odin clamped a hand on his arm. The magic flashed and Loki froze. The Allfather's drew in a choking breath; his eyes, focusing and unfocusing at an alarming rate, tried to fasten on the shimmering, traveling green as it ate away the captain's weathered skin, then the golden armor of the Einherjar. Only when the last of the magic skipped off the ends of disheveled, raven-black hair did he look Lyffeson's pale, bloody, filthy replacement in the eye.

Loki forced himself to meet Odin's gaze, but he couldn't stand it for more than a second; he looked down again with a hard swallow and shut his eyes tight. The complete silence that followed frightened him—yes, _frightened_ —even more than the prospect of Odin sending him to the executioner's block in the center of Asgard.

Odin's grip tightened. Loki opened his eyes and found Odin pointing weakly at his face.

"You're…alive…"

Loki nodded. "Unfortunately for both of us, that appears to be the case."

Odin clutched his forearm until it hurt; he tried to pull himself up, then fell back again with a gasp. Loki leaned closer, surprised at the painful, increasing constriction in his throat.

"I am so sorry," Odin whispered. "So…sorry…"

 _Sorry? After all this time, Allfather, you think a simple apology will mend our fences?_

Loki pressed his lips together. The hateful, snapping voice sounded hollow; the words made no sense. He drew in a shuddering breath and willed himself to envision Mumma. She had loved this man. Thor had loved him.

And before his own anger and bitterness drove a wedge between them, the quiet, mischievous Quicksilver Boy had loved him, too.

"No," Loki heard himself whisper. " 'Tis _I_ who am sorry."

With an effort—because he once promised himself in a dark, dank, ice-cold cell worlds away that he would never touch Odin Allfather again except to strike his face—he lifted his hand and closed it on over Odin's. The ancient king's breathing slowed and grew even more shallow, but still he gripped Loki's forearm like his life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

"You…" Odin whispered, still pointing at Loki. "You must…"

"Yes?" Loki urged, leaning even closer. "I must what?"

Odin opened his mouth, then drew in a sharp, rattling breath. His grip loosened; if Loki hadn't reached out to catch the back of his head, he would've hit the floor with a sickening, cracking thud.

Then everything was still. Loki felt the panic rise like bile in his throat.

"Odin?" he whispered. "My lord? Father?"

No reply. No slow, gentle, regular breathing no warmth of his hand, no eyes closed peacefully in sleep. Odin's grey, sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling.

This wasn't the Odinsleep.

This was Death.

 _No. No no no no NO, it wasn't supposed to happen like this!_

Loki's breath caught and then started coming in hard, ragged gasps. Any attempts at self-control failed completely. He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and dropped his forehead on the front of Odin's armor, his shoulder shaking with raw, groaning sobs.

He at least had the presence of mind to snap his fingers clumsily and cast an invisibility cloak around himself. If anyone walked in, if Heimdall sensed the loss of some powerful presence, if anyone heard him crying like a child, all was lost.

When he finally lifted his head, his blotchy, tear-streaked face looked strangely childlike. He drew in one last sobbing breath and sat back on his heels, wiping his eyes with the ball of his hand and staring helplessly at the body before him.

 _What now?_

Asgard was clearly expecting some kind of attack; he'd heard that in the street. From whom or what, though?

Malekith, of course. He had the Aether. He'd make good use of the Convergence and plunge the universe into total darkness. There was very little anyone could do about it unless they slew Malekith before the worlds aligned.

And if Malekith triumphed? Well, the Dark Elves would be all but invicible in the darkness the Aether would provide. Even Asgard would be so inhibited by the darkness, it wouldn't be able to defend itself. Its defenses were already fragile to begin with, no thanks to Malekith's first attempt to reclaim the Aether from Jane Foster.

 _Asgard's defenses must be shored up immediately…otherwise we'll be as helpless as a den of trapped rabbits. I need to know where Thor and Jane are. Volstagg, Fandral, Sif—I need them on Vanaheim alerting the people there about what's hap—h_ _alf a moment—what am I doing, taking charge?_

 _Why, yes. That is exactly what I'm doing._

 _I'm King of Asgard, and I didn't even have_ _to fight for it._

Loki inhaled and exhaled, trying to steady his reeling head. _King of Asgard_. The one title he'd craved for years...it was his, at last, and yet he barely felt an ounce of triumph.

 _Well, of course there's no triumph here. If I'm found here with the Allfather, I'll be carted off to the dungeons, if not the executioner's block. As far as anyone knows, Odin is dead because of me_. _No...he IS dead because of me! And this city will spiral into chaos if anyone knows that_ I _sit upon the throne of Asgard._ _And yet if there's no king, Asgard will fall t_ _o the monster who killed my mother._

 _I would rather die a thousand deaths at Thanos' hands than see Asgard fall to_ him _._

Loki stood up very slowly and looked at the body before him. He drew in a long deep breath, closed his eyes, and gave his wrist a firm, quick twist. Immediately the familiar green veil enveloped him—and this time it wasn't Captain Lyffeson who stood in front of the throne.

It was Odin Allfather himself. Or, at least, his perfect clone.

Loki set his teeth and twisted his other hand. His father's body disappeared. Focusing intently, he saw in his mind's eye a delicate, nearly-transparent green bridge visible only to himself trailing from the Great Hall to the King's bedchamber. It took a great deal of energy, but he felt his consciousness lift the heavy body, carry it swiftly across the bridge, and then lay it gently upon the bed. He removed the invisibility cloak from himself and draped it carefully over Odin.

 _I will tend to him later, Mumma, I swear. But for now, I have your home to defend._


	3. The Night Is Closing In

_Updates may not come quite so fast now that the story is established, but I_ am _working on Chapter Four and ohhhh, it is epic. I'm having so much fun. Also, if you're interested in drowning yourself in Loki/Frigga feelings, look for the "Loki Becomes King" deleted scene from the first Thor movie on YouTube. It's very interesting. I kinda wish they'd left it in, because first of all, you find out that Frigga wanted Loki to know the truth about his heritage all along and THAT IS IMPORTANT TO HER CHARACTER, and also because Loki is rather...huggable? Sheesh, never thought I'd say that. But if Loki just got a cup of tea and a hug (or two, or three), maybe he wouldn't have gone so banana-balls._

 _Anyhooz, get thee to YouTube and watch the scene; it did a serious number on my emotions and provided some more inspiration for this story._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Asgardians or Frost Giants._

* * *

 _I am reaching, but I fall_

 _And the night is closing in_

 _And I stare into the void_

 _To the whirlpool of my sin_

 _—Les Miserables, "Valjean's Soliloquy"_

It didn't take much poking and prying to discover what the real Odin had done to Heimdall and the Warriors Three for their part in Thor, Jane, and Loki's escape. Loki couldn't help appreciating the irony as he hurried down to the palace dungeons. One of these cells, after all, had been his home for the past several months. And now _they_ were trapped here.

To be honest, it was rather funny. Heimdall's imprisonment was no laughing matter…but Loki's childhood companions? _That_ bordered on the hilarious.

"Heimdall!" he bellowed.

It was the first time he had used his father's voice. It startled him for a moment, but he quickly concealed any uneasiness on his part as Heimdall, sitting alone in a cell, set his penetrating golden eyes on the white-bearded Allfather. Loki couldn't help feeling a vague sense of horror as he drew closer.

 _I've known him all my life and I've never seen him stripped of his armor. This is vaguely unsettling. I_ don't _like it._

Heimdall rose to his feet, serene as ever. "My lord?"

Loki closed his father's rough, weathered hand over a lever on one side of the cell and pulled. The electrified golden sheen that made up the cell's outer wall vanished.

"Your duties are required at the Bifrost, my friend," he said firmly. "Get you to the armory quick as you can and make yourself presentable."

Heimdall raised an eyebrow. "Am I pardoned, then?"

Loki fixed his father's one good eye on the Gatekeeper. "We have more important dangers to attend to than my two errant sons. Do as you're told, Heimdall, and guard Asgard with your life as you've done for thousands of years."

A flicker of a smile played at Heimdall's lips. "At once, my liege."

Loki nodded and hurried down the hallway. He found Sif, Fandral, and Volstagg occupying a cell a few doors down from Heimdall's. Volstagg sulked in a corner, Fandral leaned against one wall with his arms folded over his broad chest, and Sif paced like a caged animal, her sharp, beautiful features livid. Neither she nor her comrades noticed him until he pulled the lever and the humming electrical wall shut off.

Sif whirled, saw Odin standing there, half-concealed by shadow. She froze. Fandral and Volstagg leaped to attention.

"M-my lord," Volstagg stammered. "If it please you, if it's to be the axe for us—"

"Yes?" Loki interrupted, with a slight lift of one eyebrow.

Volstagg gulped, ignoring Fandral and Sif's horrified, desperate glares that begged for silence. "If it's to be the axe, then might I request—humbly—the sword instead."

Loki raised his eyebrow even higher and put forth a mighty effort in keeping back a smile.

"The effect will be no different whether the executioner uses an axe or a sword, Volstagg."

"No—but I hear tell it hurts less."

"Indeed? And has anyone come back from the dead to say so?"

Volstagg opened his mouth—but Sif stepped forward, pressing her bent arm to her chest in salute.

"My liege," she said in that cool, strong voice of hers, "do to us as you please. That is your prerogative. But if you wish us to ask pardon for what we did in helping our lords Thor and…and Loki…I, for my part, cannot. Therefore, I accept whatever tidings you bring of our fates."

Loki paused. He couldn't help being impressed—and not for the first time, either, where Sif was concerned. _Brave as ever, and just as ready to defend yourself as you were when we were caught, as children, putting toads in the chambers of those we heard speaking ill of Mumma behind her back._

 _You always were the fiercely loyal daughter she never had, weren't you?_

"I do not think," he said, quietly, "that I would've opened your cell if I meant to decapitate you…or at least send you to someone better qualified to do the job. You are released from your imprisonment and your crimes forgiven—though not forgotten. I have better tasks for you than doing penance at the executioner's block."

Sif blinked. Fandral stood up straight, his bright blue eyes sparking to life again. Volstagg looked ready to double over in sheer relief.

"Your Majesty…" Sif began breathlessly.

 _No time for your thanks._ "Sif, I want you on Vanaheim. Volstagg, you're to Alfheim with all due haste—and Fandral, I want you to warn the Dwarves. The Convergence is almost upon us and Malekith is in possession of the Aether. I want every Realm on the highest alert. If Malekith makes use of the Aether, they must be prepared to fight in the Dark. Go! Arm yourselves and be at the Bifrost in ten minutes!"

Sif's eyes widened. All the joy drained from Fandral and Volstagg's faces.

"Malekith has the Aether?" Fandral demanded.

"Yes, yes," Loki said, his impatience beginning to flare. "I hardly know more than you do. Go at once to the armory, retrieve your weapons, and meet me at the Bifrost. I'll learn more from Heimdall there."

The Warriors Three shared one quick glance and then jumped down from their cell. Fandral moved fastest, rubbing his hands together; Volstagg hurried after him, huffing and puffing. Sif came last. Loki allowed "Odin" to shoot her a small, fatherly smile.

"Thor lives?" she murmured.

He nodded. She'd always had a soft spot for his older brother. "Yes, he's alive."

"And Loki?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. It took a significant amount of energy to keep Odin's voice calm. "Loki died on Svartalfheim. The scouts I sent to bring them back found his body."

Sif's already-wide, pleading eyes grew even larger; she brought a hand to her stomach, as if she was going to be sick. Loki stared at her. He and Sif never got along very well, except when they united in some mischievous campaign against the small clique of courtiers who disliked the clever and outspoken Queen Frigga.

"Loki _dead?_ " Sif whispered. "Oh, Norns, no…"

"I…didn't realize _you_ were fond of him," Loki said slowly.

Sif closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Oh, Allfather…he might have driven us all to distraction, but we _were_ fond of him. At least until…until he went mad."

 _Until you went mad._

 _Until you tried to kill your brother._

 _Until you tried to take over Midgard with the Chitauri._

 _If she knew about "You might want to take the stairs to the left…"_

"On you go, Sif," he said, softly. "When all of you return, you will lead Asgard's defenses."

She nodded and saluted again. Only when her quick, light footsteps faded out of the dungeon did Loki draw in a shaky breath.

 _You have no time to waste on childish sentiment. You are King. No true king can be ruled by such weak emotions…_

 _"No true king lets himself grow cold and hard, either,"_ a gentle voice whispered, startling him so badly that he almost dropped Gungir. _"Accept Sif's confession. She and Fandral and Volstagg were far, far fonder than your bitterness allowed you to realize."_

 _They mocked and ridiculed me!_

 _"Did you not torment them? Did you not earn their suspicion and anger from countless mistimed pranks and snide remarks? A true king admits his faults, my little Quicksilver Boy. You may have had a hand to play in their animosity."_

Loki clenched the scepter and whirled, Odin's cape swishing loudly. He marched down the length of the hallway, his anger rising with each step.

 _"Forgive them, Loki. Your reign will be tainted if you do not."_

 _I will never forgive those louts…_

 _Just like you could not forgive your father?_

He drew up short. If he could whisper a genuine "I'm sorry" to Odin, could he not forgive the Warriors Three?

Their offenses _did_ seem rather paltry—childish—compared to the antagonism between him and the old king.

 _Fine, Mumma. I will forgive them…if you wish._

He could almost feel her smile. _"That's my son."_

* * *

Mounting Odin's six-legged horse Sleipnir, Loki rode straight to the Bifrost. Heimdall had just arrived, fully dressed again in his magnificent armor, and taken his place in the Observatory.

"Where is Thor?" Loki demanded.

"On Midgard," Heimdall replied immediately.

"Lady Jane is with him?"

"Yes, my lord. They are in a great city called London, planning their fight against Malekith."

Loki's heart started to race. "And where is _he_?"

"On his way to Midgard as we speak." Heimdall tilted his massive helmet towards his king. "The worlds will align just above and below London, my lord. Malekith knows this—as does Jane Foster. She and her friends are extraordinarily skilled in the lore of the stars."

"And Malekith plans to unleash the Aether at the precise moment when the walls between worlds dissolve completely," Loki murmured.

"Yes. But Thor and his friends are forming a plan," Heimdall added reassuringly. "Lady Jane apparently has tools at her disposal capable of sending Malekith into different realms. With luck, they'll be able to foil Malekith long enough for the Convergence to safely pass by."

"But if her tools fail, or they are killed in the process, all hope is lost," Loki muttered.

Heimdall said nothing. Loki set his teeth.

"Is there anything we can do here?" Heimdall asked.

"Short of sending the Einherjar down to Midgard? I think not."

As soon as the words were out, Loki winced _._ His withering, sarcastic tone really didn't sound very Odin-like. Heimdall glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Allfather; Loki avoided his gaze.

"How do you fight the Aether?" Loki whispered. "How do you fight _an Infinity Stone_?"

"With another Infinity Stone, perhaps?" Heimdall rumbled.

Loki held his breath. He looked hard at Heimdall; the Gatekeeper couldn't shrug in his armor, so he raised his eyebrows instead. It gave the same sort of message.

"There's only one Infinity Stone in Asgard," Loki said in a low voice.

"Aye," Heimdall said.

"And very few have the power to wield it."

"The Allfather may wield whatever Infinity Stone he pleases," Heimdall replied. "He alone is worthy to wear the Gauntlet."

 _Yes, but I'm_ not _the Allfather, am I? And the last time I laid eyes on the Tesseract, it didn't turn out so well._

Loki turned with an effort. "I must speak with my Lord Tyr. If Darkness falls and the Elves attack with a greater force than last time, we mustn't be caught off guard. Continue to watch Thor. Alert me if anything changes."

"As you wish, my king."

* * *

Tyr, High General of the Einherjar, was Odin's younger brother, an arrogant warrior with a lust for battle that made Thor and the Warriors Three look like a pack of innocent adventure-loving puppies in comparison. War, in his opinion, was the best solution for any and every problem. Even Thor, who didn't think twice about attacking Jotunheim that one time, thought their uncle rather extreme, a near-caricature of the fearless (and sometimes reckless) Asgardian warrior.

So when Loki summoned Tyr and ordered him to prepare his troops for imminent battle, he wasn't surprised when Tyr lashed out.

"Brother, this is _madness!_ " the general roared, his voice booming through the ruined Great Hall. "Give me a division, Odin—a divison and no more!—and we will attack Malekith on Midgard the moment he steps off of his ship! For us to simply shore up Asgard's defenses here is to court disaster. We will be left in a totally defensive position!"

"Attacking Malekith will do you, your men, and the universe no good," Loki said firmly. "With the Aether, he's as good as invincible. I'm relying on my son and his knowledgeable friends to—"

"With all due respect, Odin, Thor is a great warrior but his puny mortal is a _child_. Her knowledge of the universe is less than that of one of _our_ newborns."

Loki sprang to his feet and slammed Gungir against the dais. "And _your_ understanding of the Infinity Stones is less than that of a Midgardian babe-in-arms!"

Tyr took a step back. Loki didn't skip a beat; his adrenaline and his temper flared too high for him to waste the golden opportunity to put this man in his place.

"You _will_ muster the Einherjar, both in the main city and in the country outposts, and you _will_ place them on full alert, and you _WILL_ stay in Asgard! And if I see you set foot within a hundred feet of the Bifrost, I _will_ have you thrown into the dungeons as a traitor to your king. No one leaves Asgard except for the messengers I've sent to warn the other realms. Do—I—make—myself—clear?"

Tyr's face set like stone; his grey eyes looked sullen. "Yes, my king."

"Then begone! And the next time you come to me, it had best be with the news that my orders have been carried out to the letter!"

Tyr saluted, bent arm to chest, and turned with a great swish of his cape. Loki drummed his fingers on Gungir and watched him go.

 _Well,_ that _was satisfying._

He turned, his red cape snapping loudly in the quiet chamber, and made his way down one of the narrower, darker corridors. The path to the Vault was very familiar. When they were children, he and Thor often came down here with Odin. The Allfather seemed to take real pleasure in telling them ancient stories and showing them the relics. Some were magical, others simply dead objects of great historical significance.

The Tesseract wasn't here back then. It had been hidden somewhere on Midgard until some maniac general tried to harness it and turn himself into a god. According to what Loki learned during his time in that realm, it had literally destroyed the general.

Not that it had turned out much better for _him_ , when he stole it from Thor's friends.

The guards at the Vault let him pass, seeing nothing unusual about the Allfather coming to inspect his treasures. Loki let the heavy doors shut behind him. He hadn't been down here since…

 _"So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up until you might have use of me? You could have told me what I was from the beginning…Why didn't you?"_

Loki winced. The old man's body he inhabited strode carefully down the steep stairs where Odin, nearly three years ago, had taken the full brunt of Loki's tearful wrath. He hadn't even bothered then to notice the pain creeping into the Allfather's face as his own words grew sharp and cruel. Now he remembered it. The way Odin flinched, the catching of his breath…

 _"It all makes sense now! Why you favored Thor all those years, because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!"_

The Tesseract, still in the strong case Erik Selvig sealed it in back on Midgard, glowed blue at the end of the Vault, opposite the Casket of the Ancient Winters. Loki stopped in between them, eyeing each one in turn. The Casket once confirmed for him his Jotun heritage. That had been bad enough. But the Tesseract—and the Scepter given to him by the Chitauri—confirmed that he was, indeed, the monster parents told their children about at night.

Loki shuddered, but drew closer to the glowing cube. It was still beautiful in a cold, deadly way. If he could harness its power…use it to ward off the Aether's darkness if it streamed through the Convergence…to strengthen Asgard and defy anyone who cast a malevolent eye in its direction…

Why, with the combined force of the Tesseract and the Odinforce still throbbing within Gungir, he could be the greatest king Asgard had ever seen.

 _If you touch that thing, you will be so infected by the memories of the power you once wielded through it, it will consume you._

 _But I can master it now. I am king, I may do as I please and wield whatever power I choose—I have the_ right _!_

The temptation was like a cord around his neck, pulling him down, down, down towards the Tesseract. An image flashed through his head…himself on his father's throne, but not as Odin. _He_ sat on the throne with Gungir in one hand and the Tesseract in the other, his sharp eyes gleaming blue and not their natural green as he bottle-necked the Aether's black advance and commanded all of Asgard to kneel before him.

His fingers brushed along the case's curved handle and began to close over it.

 _"LOKI!"_

He jerked the thick fingers of his father's weathered hand away from the case and whirled, half-expecting to see his mother at the head of the stairs leading into the vault. Of course she wasn't visible, but he felt her presence as keenly as if she stood beside him with her stern grey eyes penetrating his disguise and fastening on his true face.

 _"You do not need the Tesseract! Not this time. If you are a true king, then that scepter you hold contains all the power you will need for this battle."_

Loki lowered his eyes to Gungir. Surpassing even his own formidable height, it felt very cold and heavy compared to the desperate, burning sensation in his other hand that begged him to seize the Infinity Stone just behind him.

 _I only wish to ensure Asgard's survival, Mumma—_

 _"Don't you_ dare _lie to me! You're thinking of what you can do with that Cube. It will destroy you if you lay hands on it again, fragile as you are in your new self. The Odinforce is the only thing in Asgard that surpasses the Tesseract's power, Loki. If you are truly king, you will_ _be able to wield it and_ _protect Asgard without falling into your old ways!"_

The cord of temptation pulled harder, forcing the cold blue of the Tesseract to the forefront of his mind until he could hardly focus on anything else. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and clenched Gungir's staff as tightly as he could with both hands. He'd initially writhed at her use of the word "fragile," but now he couldn't argue with it; torn between his mother and the Cube, he felt as helpless as a kitten. He leaned heavily on the staff, trying to catch his breath as the tension became unbearable.

"Can I protect Asgard?" he whispered aloud.

 _"Gungir will obey the King's command, Loki."_

"Even...even a king with a past like mine?"

 _"Even a king with a past like yours...if you are willing to turn completely from it._ _"_

 _Oh._ Loki drew in a shuddering breath and lifted his head, a look of comprehension flooding his father's strained face. This was a test. A true king wouldn't let his mind trail back to its old desires for brutal dominion. A true king knew his own power and could take full confidence in it...but he also knew how to control it, without _it_ controlling _him_. A true king fought for his realm not out of vain ambition, but because its innocents were worth defending.

It was certainly an entirely new way of thinking. Embracing it, however, was the only way he could tear himself away from Loki Laufeyson, the maniacal, embittered, would-be ruler of Midgard. If he was truly sorry _—_ as he swore to his mother in the wood _—_ then this was the moment of truth.

Loki forced himself to stand up straight; glancing over his shoulder, he took one long, hard look at the Tesseract. It still beckoned to him, but its icy whispering now reminded him, strangely enough, of a certain hunched-over tyrant who loaned him a screeching, bloodthirsty army with which to attack Midgard. The repulsive memory did the trick. Loki set his teeth, turned away from the Cube, and stormed from the vault.

By the time he heard the guards pull the heavy door shut behind him, the dragging, burning temptation had withered to a faint, tickling sensation in the back of his mind. By the time he returned to the Bifrost to keep watch with Heimdall, it was gone.


	4. Another Story Must Begin

_A/N: Hey, just so everybody knows, in this story I'm using Sif, Fandral, and Volstagg as "The Warriors Three." I know Hogun was considered one of the Warriors Three, but it looked like he "retired," so to speak, at the beginning of_ The Dark World _. Just wanted to make that clear to everybody. I also added a few lines to the movie dialogue at the end of this chapter...and lastly, my musical references at the beginning of each chapter will continue, but they won't be limited solely to_ Les Miserables.

 _900 days till_ Thor: Ragnarok _! We are the new "Fandom That Waited."_

* * *

 _I'll escape now from that world…_

 _Another story must begin!_

 _—Les Miserables, "Valjean's Soliloquy"_

Ordinary night had just fallen when Heimdall sent word to the Allfather that the Convergence neared its climax. By order of the King, the people of Asgard filled the streets with torches and their homes with lanterns. If the Aether swept into the realm, at least they wouldn't be left groping in the Dark.

Although, if Malekith sent in hordes of his Elves, it _would_ be difficult to fight with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. But there was nothing else they could do. Even though tidings of Thor's battle against Malekith on Midgard buoyed everyone's spirits, the atmosphere in Asgard grew still and uneasy.

It was as if the entire universe waited with baited breath for the worlds to align.

* * *

"I want no one to disturb me until the Convergence is over," Loki ordered the guards in front of his parents' old bedchamber. "No matter what you hear, no one is to enter until I give the word. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Your Majesty," they murmured. Loki nodded and entered the room, shutting the heavy doors behind him.

He sighed, looked around. The last time he stepped foot in this room, the Allfather lay unconscious in the Odinsleep. Now Odin lay on the massive bed in the center of the room once again—but there'd be no waking from this sleep. It _was_ surreal. Loki lowered himself to a seat on the chest at the foot of the bed and dropped his head in his hands.

 _Well, Silvertongue, you'd best prepare yourself_. _You thought your battle on Midgard was something for story and song. Just wait till_ this _test begins._

He flicked his wrist and the disguise fell away with a flash of green. Keeping up his father's appearance was far more difficult than an invisibility spell. A brief rest from the illusion would probably be good for him. He grimaced at the filth-encrusted armor beneath the disguise, and with a snap of his fingers he replaced them with a pair of black breeches and a green tunic.

 _Might as well die in comfort_ , he thought, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. _Because you may very well die, Laufeys—no,_ Friggason. That _is my name from this day forth. If I die in this attempt, then so be it. The disguise will fail, of course, the second I fall—but at least I'll die in my own form. And then all the world will know who saved Asgard._

 _I think I can allow myself_ that _measure of self-satisfaction._

He took a deep breath and summoned the disguise again. Gripping Gungir, he strode quickly to the balcony where his parents used to sit of an evening and watch the stars.

 _What if Malekith kills Thor? Armed with an Infinity Stone, can he withstand Mjölnir's power? What if Jane's tools fail? What if the Aether smothers the torches? What if Mumma is wrong and Gungir alone can't ward off the Darkness?_

He drummed his fingers on the scepter—and then something in the beautiful, galaxy-filled expanse just beyond the Bifrost caught his eye. Where once he saw stars, an enormous flickering disc swallowed them up, growing clearer until he glimpsed…

 _Oceans? Continents? Cities?_

It was another dimension. Midgard, by the looks of it, growing larger as it and Asgard neared each other. Loki closed the distance between himself and the edge of the balcony, astonished and strangely delighted by the phenomenon. He remembered Heimdall telling him and Thor, long ago when they were children, that the Convergence only happened every five thousand years—the average lifespan of an Asgardian.

 _Maybe Malekith is dead, nothing will happen, and I can enjoy this in pea—_

Before he could finish the thought, a thousand slithering black ribbons marred the beautiful image. Horrified, Loki watched as they shot up from Midgard's surface, rattling, hissing, and then roaring louder than the ocean beneath the Bifrost as they entered Asgard's domain.

Loki clenched the scepter and set his jaw; taking Gungir in both hands, he pointed its end at the expanding wormhole. But before he could summon the Odinforce, the Aether reached the Bifrost.

In all his years, he'd never seen anything so blood-curdling. Even when the sun went down, the golden Observatory always radiated in its own light. But now the Darkness simply swallowed it up. In an instant it disappeared altogether; even the torches he glimpsed through the Bifrost's round entrance went out.

The seething Darkness rose up from its first victim and loomed over Asgard like some sadistic dragon. Then it nosedived. A grim smile spread over Loki's pale, cunning face. He chuckled.

"Oh no, no, no," he whispered, shaking his head. "Not on _my_ watch."

And with that, he thrust Gungir upward.

The Aether reacted to the white-hot energy beam the same way it did to Mjölnir on Svartalf-heim: it burst into a million smithereens. It didn't surprise Loki, either, when it gathered itself up again; he'd witnessed that, too, in the Dark World. What _did_ surprise him was the way it formed itself into a single, thick mass and shot clear over Asgard's streets…

And straight for the palace.

"Ah, so it's to be a duel, is it?" Loki muttered. " 'Are you mad, Loki?' Oh, possibly—probably—I'd _definitely_ lean on the side of 'probably' at this point…"

With one of his father's roaring battle cries, he thrust the scepter forward again. This time the Odinforce hit the Aether at a much closer range, and this time the Aether held. Loki gripped the scepter tighter, willing it to maintain its roaring, throbbing assault. The Aether pushed hard against it and even tried to split into smaller ribbons—but Loki directed Gungir's energy to spread, blasting the offshoots into oblivion.

 _Come on, Thor, you oaf! If you're wasting time on Midgard I_ will _put snakes in your drink the next time I catch you at a banquet!_

Without warning, the Aether jerked back. Loki lowered the scepter, breathing hard—and barely lifted it in time before the Aether lunged at him with a greater ferocity than before. Sweat broke out on his forehead and left his palms slippery. He started to wonder how long he could hold out. He wasn't nearly as strong as Thor. If his brother were here he'd have beaten this thing back already…

A spark of green coming off his fingers caught his eye. Alarmed, Loki lowered his gaze just as his own slender hands suddenly appeared.

 _Oh no._

The Aether must've sensed his distraction—or rather, Malekith did on the other side of reality. The Darkness slammed against Gungir's beam and threw Loki flat on his back. The air left his lungs with a painful wheeze; Gungir rattled to the edge of the balcony out of his reach.

The Aether hovered over him like a snake ready for the deathstroke. Loki moaned, rolled over onto his side. The disguise flickered in and out now; one second he saw his own hands and arms, and the next he saw his father's golden vambraces and thick, strong hands. He gritted his teeth and let the crumbling spell go with a splay of his fingers.

 _"Surrender, Laufeyson,"_ a deep, hideous voice whispered from the Aether's rattling mass. _"You will never succeed against the Darkness. You_ belong _to it."_

Loki rolled onto his back again, his eyes flashing and his lips pulled back from his clenched teeth. The Aether swirled menacingly as he staggered to his feet, facing it with the same wild-eyed fury with which he once confronted a certain hulking monster on Midgard.

Only this time he suspected no one would fault him for standing his ground.

A phrase he'd heard Odin utter countless times in judgment came back to his reeling head. He set his feet far apart, narrowed his eyes, and extended his long, lean arms to the side, palms lightly cupped to the sky.

"In the name of my father," he murmured, his voice growing stronger and darker with each syllable, "and his father before him…"

The Aether lashed out—but before it could hit him, Gungir flew into his hand. Loki clamped all ten fingers over the scepter. The Odinforce met the Darkness with greater strength and such an intense heat, it burned his face.

"Go back—to the Darkness— _from whence—you—came!_ "

He screamed and the Odinforce turned a deadly, poisonous, beautiful green. There was a moment of unbearable heat and weight and light—

And then the Aether exploded. Loki collapsed in a heap on the balcony.

At the very same moment, back on Midgard, the God of Thunder struck Malekith in the chest with Mjölnir and Jane Foster twisted a knob. Malekith, along with the greater portion of the Aether, found himself on Svartalfheim again, crushed beneath the weight of his own ship, finally destroyed by the Infinity Stone that had consumed his dreams for five thousand years.

Loki, however, knew only that everything had gone very quiet. The Aether didn't come back to attack him. Whimpering, he rolled onto his side.

 _I did it, Mumma…I held it back…_

 _"I know you did, my sweet, darling little boy. Hurry inside now…rest…"_

He forced himself to his hands and knees and crawled into the bedchamber. Once he was safe inside, he collapsed on his stomach and shut his eyes, trembling so badly that his teeth chattered.

A heavy pounding on the door startled him. Loki lifted his head, sweat-soaked hair falling in his face.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, are you in there?"

The pounding continued. Loki clenched his fingers and tried to summon his father's form and voice. The effort it required made him lightheaded, but when he finally managed to speak it was in Odin's deep, rumbling tones.

"I—I'm fine," he called hoarsely. "Leave me be. And send someone to the Bifrost…"

"The Bifrost is secure, milord," the guard assured him. "Heimdall has already sent word. The Darkness is gone and the Convergence is over."

"Good," Loki mumbled. "Good…"

The guard, satisfied, drew away from the door. Loki dropped his head again, returned to his own form, and promptly went to sleep.

* * *

By dawn all of Asgard hummed with the news brought by Heimdall from the Bifrost. In spite of the Darkness enveloping the Observatory, Heimdall's vision hadn't been impaired; he saw Thor and Jane defeat Malekith, and knew exactly where Malekith met his decisive end.

But that wasn't the only piece of news worthy of celebration. The common folk of Asgard had cowered in their homes during the Convergence, hoping and praying their torches didn't go out and that the Elves didn't come—so they heard rather than saw Odin Allfather's battle against the Aether. And did they hear it. It was said the Aether's roar and Gungir's relentless thunder made the very streets rumble.

But the Allfather's power had proved mightier even than an Infinity Stone. It was enough to make even the peasant farmers in the outlying country villages laugh and twirl their pitchforks for joy.

Everything came to a standstill, however, when the Bifrost received a visitor and Thor, son of Odin, strode alone through its rounded entrance. His handsome face was graver than Asgard had ever seen it. He didn't crack any jokes; he hardly smiled at the people flooding the streets to greet and congratulate him on his victory. He simply set his steel-blue eyes on the palace and walked through its gates with the look of a man ready to accept some harsh but just sentence.

As soon as Loki heard Thor was in Asgard, he rushed to the Great Hall. It was all he could do to keep from showing how nervous he felt. His fingers twitched and his stomach churned; when

he lowered himself to Odin's throne, he caught himself tapping the dais with his foot. He even set one elbow on the arm of the throne and chewed his fingernails. It was a childhood habit, but not one the real Odin shared.

Nor, he realized, did Odin ever sit with his knees spread so far apart. Loki cleared his throat and closed his legs so quickly, his knees knocked against each other. Thankfully, the guards at the Great Hall's entrance were too far away to notice.

 _Why, Silvertongue, you're more nervous than a cat. What is wrong with you?_

He knew good and well what was wrong with him and didn't appreciate the old sarcastic voice in the back of his head. Only Mumma knew Loki better than Thor did. If anyone now alive could see through his disguise, it would be his older brother.

 _What would Thor think, if he knew Father was dead?_

 _Of course you know what he'd think. It's not as though you have a glowing reputation._

The body still lay on the bed upstairs; he hadn't had a chance to deal with it properly. It would have to be done under cover of darkness. But if Thor realized the truth, Loki could always show him the body. There was no evidence of violence upon it, after all.

 _I'd better hope Thor is in the mood for a long explanation._

A long, heavy footstep startled him from his thoughts. He glanced up. Thor strode down the length of the Great Hall, clasping Mjölnir in one hand and with his golden head lowered. Loki held his breath. Thor advanced until he was a yard or two from the throne; then he lowered himself to one knee and set Mjölnir on the floor with a dull thud.

"My Lord and King," he murmured.

Loki swallowed. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Thor said nothing for what felt like an eternity. When he finally lifted his head, it was all Loki could do to meet his gaze. His brother wore a strange, sad look, without a trace of his old bravado. This wasn't the reckless young prince who stormed Jotunheim two years ago. It wasn't even the grim, fierce warrior who broke him out of prison hardly twenty-four hours ago.

And to Loki's relief, there was no startled recognition in his brother's face.

"There is nothing I can say," Thor murmured. "I did what I believed necessary for the protection of Asgard and the Nine Realms, Father…and in so doing, I disobeyed you and pulled my dearest friends into my own treason. Whatever you do to me, Father, I beg you to have mercy on them. They acted only out of love for me and concern for our land."

"Their love for you, then, surpasses their loyalty to me?"

Thor opened his mouth, shut it, shook his head. "Father, may I speak plainly?"

Loki nodded. Thor took a deep breath. He reached for Mjölnir, as if he wasn't sure what to do with his fidgeting right hand.

"Father, there is but one person left in this universe who I love as much as I love you. No other ruler has my complete loyalty, and I believe I can say the same for Heimdall and the Warriors Three. But I would not have acted as I did if I did not fear that your reason left you with Mumma's death. I believed that Asgard was in grave peril, and as—I feared—its sole defender, I tried to lure Malekith away."

Loki tilted his head back. "You freed Loki from prison."

"I did. He knew how to escape Asgard without the Bifrost. I _needed_ him. And because of me he…"

Thor's voice trailed off; he lowered his eyes. Loki leaned forward, gripping Gungir so tightly his knuckles whitened.

"I know Loki is dead," he said. "What I wish to know is 'how.' "

Thor nodded. "He gave his life for me. The very creature that killed Mumma was about to kill _me_ …when Loki diverted its attention to himself. But before that he gave me his full assistance, and even protected Jane Foster. He proved himself more worthy of my trust than I could've ever hoped, considering all that had happened between us. And now…"

He choked. Loki's breath caught in his throat as his brother suddenly lifted his head, gazing up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I loved my brother, Father," Thor whispered, a faint smile flickering on his strong, handsome face. "And if I am to die, then at least I will die with the knowledge that Loki was not the monster we feared."

Loki stared at him, hardly believing his ears. His throat felt as if it burned with the very fires of Muspelheim. His own words from two years ago screamed in his head: _"What happened to make you so soft?!"_ He knew the answer now. It wasn't that Thor was naive, or simply a soft-hearted oaf. Thor had never been an oaf. Thor was simply… _good_.

 _Something I will never be, no matter how hard I try. Mischief flows in my veins…and mischief has an uncanny propensity for darkness, doesn't it, Liesmith?_

Thor could never know the truth. Not unless Loki wanted to lose his love and respect forever, because how would he ever convincingly explain walking around in Odin's form with the real Odin lying dead upstairs? He had too much blood on his hands already. No one would question the probability that he'd commited patricide, too.

 _It would be better for everyone if I just handed this off to him. Then I could disappear…_

"You once said there'd never be a wiser king than me," he heard himself saying—in Odin's voice, of course, but in a softer tone than before. "You were wrong."

Thor blinked, startled. Loki rose to his feet, making sure to lean on Gungir just a little.

"The alignment has brought all the realms together. Every one of them saw you offer your life to save them." His chest felt tight. "What…what can Asgard offer its new king in return?"

Thor looked straight at him. "My life."

Loki frowned. "Your life is already granted you."

Thor shook his head. "Father, I cannot be King of Asgard. I will protect it and the realms with my last and every breath but I cannot do so from that chair."

 _What?_ Loki couldn't help gaping at his brother. He'd just offered Thor the very power _he_ had dreamed of having all his life— _and Thor turned it down?_ Honestly, had some sorcerer exchanged his brain for that of…of the American captain? Or Jane Foster herself? _By the Norns…_

"Loki, for all his grave imbalance, understood rule as I know I never will," Thor continued. "The brutality, the sacrifice…it changes you. I'd rather be a good man than a great king."

Loki pressed his lips together. "Is this my son I hear, or the woman he loves?"

Thor smiled. "When you speak, do I never hear Mumma's voice?"

Loki flinched; he closed his eyes and sank to the throne with an unsteadiness that was hardly feigned.

"This is not for Jane, Father," Thor said. "She does not know what I came here to say. Now forbid me to see her, or say she can rule at my side—it changes nothing. I cannot take the throne."

Loki sighed, shook his head. _So much for that plan._ "One son who wanted the throne too much…another who will not take it. Is this my legacy?"

"Loki died with honor," Thor said, softly. "I shall try to live the same. Is that not legacy enough?"

 _Would it have been enough for Odin?_ Loki decided to nod. Even if the real Odin had been less than impressed by such a legacy—and somehow Loki suspected he _would_ have been satisfied—Thor deserved better. His brother received the acknowledgement with a smile. He glanced down at the hammer in his hand; he extended it, handle towards the Allfather.

Loki smiled wryly—the irony of this entire conversation was either hilarious or heartbreaking and he couldn't decide which—but he commanded the Allfather's smile to appear benevolent. He waved his hand. "It belongs to you…if you are worthy of it."

"I shall try to be," Thor said.

He turned to go. Loki watched him…tall, strong, and noble, everything an Asgardian warrior was supposed to be…yet above and beyond the rest of them in ways he could hardly fathom. A sudden urgency rose up within him. He started talking before he could stop himself.

"I cannot give you my blessing," he called. "Nor can I wish you good fortune."

Thor turned. "I know."

 _No no, wait, let me finish, Thor, please!_ Loki leaned forward and raised his voice again.

"If I were proud of the man my son had become, even that I could not say. It would speak only from my heart."

Thor smiled—a true, gentle smile that settled deep with his blue eyes. Loki locked that image away and forced himself to smile back.

"Go…my son."

Thor nodded. "Thank you, Father."

With that he strode out, quicker than before and with his head held high. Loki watched him until he disappeared from sight. He flicked his wrist and the disguise fell away; he sat up straight and tall upon the throne, relieved of his burden and looking younger, more carefree, and more truly satisfied than he had in years.

His brother loved him, Asgard was his, and he had a chance to finally make his mother proud.

It was more than he could've hoped for.

"No, Thor," he whispered, smiling. "Thank _you_."


End file.
